The Magician's Tail
by ASouffleToServeTwo
Summary: With the age of Vendrick coming to a close, the kingdom of Drangleic is slowly starting to crumble. As the world is overrun with the darkest souls imaginable, a lone, nameless undead sets out on a final mission to rebuild the Lordvessel. But will he discover his true identity along the way?
1. Prologue

**The Prologue: Tark's Soul**

* * *

"Master... Master Tseldora?"

The Duke spun on his heels, imposing a glare of irritation upon Manscorpion Tark. "What is it?"

Tark withdrew for a moment, scalded by his master's fury. But, strong as he always tried to be, he soon regained his composure. "Master... can you please let her go for today?"

The Duke's eyebrows furrowed, and hot, gaseous lava simmered behind his pupils. "I beg your pardon?!"

Tark swallowed his fear, and pressed on. "My darling... she has less tolerance of the pain. Every coming night now she is ever the more distant from me. I'm afraid... sire."

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid that one day the woman I love will go into that chamber, and never come out again."

The Duke was seething with rage, unable to comprehend such a petty concept as love or compassion. Such futile and banal emotions surpassed his intellect completely. "So, what do you ask of me?"

Feeling his gut swimming with acidic butterflies, Tark proceeded. "Let me take her place. Give her peace. I beg of thee."

The Duke of Tseldora froze, his body more rigid than crystal. Then, he threw his head back, and laughed. The sound of his sadistic pleasure was like a knife in Tark's heart. Every second that it persisted, Tseldora's fingers were on the hilt, thrusting it deeper inside.

But as abruptly as it had begun, the laughter stopped. Tseldora breathed deeply, and looked upon his creation with something approaching reverence.

"You are strong, Tark. But you do not possess the raw potential for sorcery like Najka does. Magical inheritance... is something I cannot yet graft to my creations. But at one time... long, long ago..."

Tseldora paused, as though lost in the field of his memory. "...I was so very close."

Suddenly, he was yanked back from his nostalgia like a fishing line withdrawn. His eyes, previously glazed over with a milky glass, were now focused, and piercing into Tark like spears.

"I must make up for lost time now. There is much to do, and little time."

Tark waited for Tseldora to elaborate. He did not.

"You may go now, Tark," he told the Manscorpion. His words connoted an element of freedom, but the vicious tone of his voice told otherwise - it was a command, not an offer.

Tark bowed. "Yes, my master."

As he began to scuttle away, Tseldora spoke again, freezing him in his tracks.

"Here, we are the architects of miracles, Tark. There are no gods, save the ones that we make for ourselves."

The true malice of the Duke's words bounced off of naive Tark. As if in response to its creator's dulcet tones, a creature in a nearby cage twisted as though in agony and roared vehemently, filling the room with a scorching yellow light.

The Duke continued, a sly arrogance creeping into his viscous tones. "And we're only just beginning..."


	2. The Forgotten

**Chapter One: The Forgotten**

The crack of light pulled me from my slumber. It was not particularly bright, or far-reaching, but that was not the point. It was light! Light, after all this time!

It was only at this point that I realised I had never been asleep at all. The immense, unrelenting - but most importantly, perpetual - glare of the darkness had conveyed an illusion of unconsciousness. Deprived of anything to differentiate, I had been completely unaware all along of whether I was asleep or nay!

But now, I was certainly awake. And there was light.

Slowly, I began to flex my rusted fingers. At first, there was no response. They remained like slabs of stone. But then, the blood began to flow through them again, restoring them to a fleshy, organic state. I did the same for my other hand, and then my feet. As I did so, the tingling sensation in my legs turned suddenly to a sharp jolt of agony. With great dismay, I realised that they were broken in several places, and would likely never move again.

Cursing my luck, I spat, only to be hit by the vile globule as it flew up in the air a pathetic few inches, and came crashing back down. Clearly, I was lying on my back. Hadn't realised that either.

Over the next few minutes, the life slowly returning to my body, I began to inspect my surroundings. The faint light above me did very little to illuminate things, so to speak, but I could make out a dark-green brick wall surrounding me on all sides. Furthermore, I found myself to be lying on a thin, wooden platform. All around me, similar wooden platforms of varying lengths and sizes stuck out. Apparently, I had fallen down a pit of some sort, although I had no memory of doing so. All I knew that I was in intense pain, and wanted to get outside.

However, doing so proved difficult. I certainly couldn't climb up the platforms around me; not in my state. Scaling the wall was similarly out of the question. My only hope lay in the strange, jagged branch of wood that I had somehow come to hold in my hands after finding it beneath my wrecked body. Turning it over between my fingers did very little to enlighten me towards its purpose. I had never seen anything like it.

"What kind of an idiot am I?" I pondered. "To carry a useless stick around with no weapon!"

Because my memory extended no further than my awakening, I could have been a crazed maniac for all I knew. How would I know if I was crazy, with nothing to compare myself to?

On the subject of people, I came across a sudden realisation whilst I lay on my plank. Someone had to have moved the cover off of the pit. It was unlikely that it had simply moved by its own accord; inanimate objects usually did not possess such an ability. So, presuming the rules of the universe had not changed in the absence of my memory, there had to be someone up above.

Someone who could help me.

I attempted to call out, but my words were distorted into a warped gargling noise, which likely served no practical purpose other than to persuade whomever may be above to replace the cover immediately. Coughing up the phlegm that coated my vocal chords, I proceeded to repeat the gesture. Only this time, a deep, crusted voice emerged from my throat.

It called for help. "Hello?"

Evoking no response, I called once more. "Please! Somebody, help!"

A shadow fell across the light, and for a moment, I was terrified that my saviour had decided to imprison me again. Out of frustration, I balled my fists so tightly that the blood in my fingers rushed to the tips, turning them a worryingly-toxic shade of purple.

The figure bending across the light was shouting something. They didn't sound friendly, or welcoming. They certainly didn't sound like they were pleased to discover a living creature at the bottom of such a deep, dark pit. The reasoning for this was yet unclear to me.

Troubled by the voice - that, judging by its ferocious volume, belonged to a male of Northern descent - I quickly cupped my hands across my mouth to reply. "Please! My legs are broken. I can't move!"

The figure cried out again, and this time there was no mistaking the words that he had chosen. "Good! Then you can stay down there to rot in hell, ya filthy hollow!"

Not only was he refusing to help me, but he had saddled me with a rather unsavoury nickname. Hollow. It sounded familiar, but for all the wrong reasons. Just running the word across my tongue filled me to the brim with foreboding. What could it mean?

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm not a 'hollow!'" I protested. Upon making this insistence, I was fully aware of the fact that it may not be true. For all I knew at that very difficult moment in time, I could have been a full-blooded hollow - the hollowest imaginable. But I wasn't about to let my one chance of escape from that hole slip between my fingers.

The voice above spoke again, but this time it was much quieter; focused. Then, I heard a different voice altogether, and I realised that the figure was conversing with somebody else. A woman, by the sound of it. When the male voice rose in volume, like the lashing of a whip, I came to a further realisation: They were arguing. Arguing over me? There was - surely - no alternative.

From my position below, I could hear very little from above. Most of my senses were clouded by the pain that was shooting through my broken legs, but my ears were efficiently-attuned enough to pick out several of the more insidious phrases that were being used.

"...filth from the gutter!" - This one was most definitely the property of the male.

"...can't just...an undead!" - The woman. Although she was apparently arguing for me, I wasn't comfortable with her utility of the word 'undead.' Death was one of the few concepts I was aware of. To throw around a word like un-dead - implying some kind of defiance of death, or state of limbo between life and its affirmative end - I couldn't help but feel that she was referring to me in a less-than-positive light.

"cut his tongue out!" - This one I utterly detested.

Eventually, their voices fell to a much duller pitch. I wasn't exactly reassured by the fact that the woman had seemed to have won. If the manner by which she referred to me as 'undead' was anything to go by, she could have simply been arguing for a more thorough method by which to dispose of me. Boiling lava, perhaps?

But then, the woman raised her voice. It echoed in the pit, and I caught every single word.

"Hang tight! We're coming to get ya!"

And at that moment, no words in all of my world could have made me happier.

* * *

There was something that felt almost spiritual about my rugged ascent into the world of light. With the man shouldering most of my body weight, and the woman acting as some kind of enforcer of enthusiasm, the climb to the surface took little more than five minutes. The man was extremely strong; I feel the bulges of his biceps through his grasp and they were almost as hard as the platform that I had lain upon. It didn't bode well for me to think what he might do to me with those mountainous heights when we reached the surface world.

Of course, when we did, the first thing I did was cower from the intense light as it scoured my eyes. The beams tore through my pupils like a rock through a pane of glass, and I became unbearably nauseous. I dropped to the ground, clutching my eyes, fearing that I may go blind.

Turns out, that was the least of my worries, after the man suddenly started to shout at me.

"This is no man! Look at that, and tell me that I just rescued a man!"

I did not hear the woman protest. Perhaps she had been struck into silence.

The next thing I knew though, she had cried out, and a large, bulking weight was pressing down upon my shoulders. I had no idea what to expect, except that this was no friendly gesture. The object, apparently a weapon judging by the sharpness of its vertices, was digging into my flesh at just the right level to cause me discomfort. My eyes, still burning in the light, focussed upon a large, hulking man with sturdy steel armour, and a head obscured almost entirely by a furious-red beard. I only noticed the gigantic greatsword that he was holding atop my shoulders just before he barked "Keep your head DOWN!" into my face, and my eyes were retreated onto the ground.

"Who are you?" he pressed. "Where did you come from?"

My teeth clattering like shutters in a storm, I tried to answer. "I know not either of the answers you seek... Please... I remember nothing from before the pit!"

The woman, now referring to the man as Aldane, came hurriedly to my defence aftr a brief lapse. "Does he look like one of the halflings? Look at him! He can speak for one thing!"

'Aldane' snorted. He did not deny the name that the woman had given him, so I began to assume that it was indeed his name. "The hollows of all things can speak now! We should not expect less of he halflings. They may be one step further on the ladder of sophistication, but they are no less revolting, or deserving of a swift death!"

Now this word 'halfling.' Over the past fifteen minutes or so I had been labelled with many unpleasant-sounding titles. From this strange word - perhaps meaning a fusion of two parts, or a division (with equal probability) - I salvaged ideas about loneliness and belonging. I'd certainly never been so insulted, or confused, in my extremely-short memory. But perhaps that was my purpose.

Whilst lost in my thoughts I had missed the progression of the conversation to an apparent impasse. Aldane, still panting from his angered outbursts, had taken the sword from my shoulders and had - with some very evident reluctance - sheathed it. The woman, whose name still escaped me, was asking me something. But I wasn't listening, because now I had gotten my first glimpse of the world around me.

And it was gorgeous. I was in some kind of village built into the mountainside. The pit I had fallen down appeared to be a sewer pipe of some kind. But all around me, there was something far more appealing.

Water. Water everywhere. Words betrayed me. It was stunning. Golden rays of sunlight hit the waves and bounced off, giving the water a transparent tinge that made it all feel so mysterious. Like every inch of it could be explored.

I watched through a clump of lush green grass as a particularly-violent wave tackled with one of the enormous pylons of rock, playfully parting around the structure so as to meet upon the other side. The way that nature seemed to actually live and thrive here; I was transfixed.

I had come from the dark. Now, I was a pilgrim of the light.

A hand fell upon my shoulder, jolting me out of my gaze. It was the woman who had argued for me. I offered her a grateful smile - the only gesture I could think to give in my disorientated state. She returned it, much to my relief, dispelling any tension of hostility in the situation.

Suddenly, I was taken aback. I caught my first real sight of her - and she was like nothing I had yet seen. All the hills and vales around could not light a candle to her. Her hair, a hazelnut brown, hung loose around her shoulders at even partings, but fell short of her nose and mouth, such a stunningly-perfect alignment - it hardly seemed like a coincidence of nature. Her chin, short and rounded, curled as she smiled, and a warm aura emanated from her very flesh, soothing me down to my bones. Nevertheless, it was her eyes that encapsulated me the most. Shining beacons of the most deepest green you could ever imagine, they practically fixed me in place, searching the furthest corners of my own for anything which may allude to my true self. It was in this way that her eyes were both simultaneously alarmingly beautiful, and intensely inquisitive.

"Hey," she said; her search-beams swiped across me but her smile never came close to diminishing. "Are you alright?"

I nodded; I was too breathless to coerce my lungs into pumping out the correct words to match my feeling.

She laughed, probably thinking me odd. "Good. Do you know your name?"

I knew nothing beyond the dark, and this new world of light confused me greatly. I said nothing, and this simply seemed to confirm her suspicions.

"He's an undead. Probably sent here by the hags; but how he ended up inside that hole is a mystery to me... As is... That."

I had no idea what had caught her gaze, but as I followed it around to my back, all became suddenly, and unnervingly, clear.

What was it doing there? How? Why?

My questions were irrelevant however. The answers would probably only confuse me further.

All I knew was that I had a _tail. _

It just kind of hung there. A long, scaly white distraction, with seemingly no purpose other than to be awkward, and make me feel even more so.

The woman had been staring quite intensely at me. If I hadn't been so startled by my strange anatomical development, I would probably have burned red with embarrassment. When I was able to draw my gaze from my tail, my eyes met with hers again and she offered me a kind smile.

"My name is Carlai," she said, reaching out a slender, but beautifully-shaped hand. I took it, my fingers crashing against a softness deeper than anything I had ever known. Her skin emanated a hearth-like warmth, and immediately, I felt safer, as though I were wrapped up in a bedroll warmed by a hot spring.

Carlai started to giggle, and I realised that I had been staring at her hand as if it was a wild, alien creation. Stunned, I withdrew from the shake, my eyes dodging from hers. "Sorry."

"So you can speak?" she grinned. "I was starting to think that all of that shouting down the pit might have been a fake out!"

Aldane grumbled and spat harshly upon the floor. Carlai glared sharply at him, and the ferocity took me aback momentarily. I had never imagined something so beautiful could have such a sting. Clearly, I was knew to this world, and had yet no concept of roses or fire.

"Don't worry about him," Carlai whispered, her eyes fixed upon the hulking northerner. "He's a wolf on the outside, but has the heart of a pup."

Aldane made a strangled sound, and I turned to get my first proper look at him. As I had expected, the owner of the muscles that had carried me was a very large, tall man. He possessed a dark black beard that hung off his chin like a poisonous ivy, and a face rounded like a boulder. Whilst Carlai wore little more than a white robe, Aldane was geared up in enormous metal armour. A rather-sharp silver suit, it displayed deep, mysterious grooves that met around the middle and a collection of belts and buckles, each holding an array of assorted knives and other projectile weapons. The greatsword that he had placed upon my shoulders now stood at his side; an enormous, plated chunk of metal masquerading as a tool of man. I shudder now to think what it would have felt like to be ripped open by such a sword.

"Go on," the warrior jeered. "Take a nice long look at it, son. Might as well get acquainted with it in advance, should you try anything funny."

His warning tones should have warded me off for good, but there was something very endearing about Aldane. Not that I could yet put my finger on it.

"Where am I?" I stumbled, addressing Carlai, the only one present who did not look as though they wanted to murder me.

Carlai's gaze deepened, her eyebrows lifting with expression. "Majula, a refuge for the lost, and the withered. And that hole where you just came out of is called The Gutter."

"The Gutter?" The words did not provoke recollection. Nonetheless, the reproachful manner in which Carlai spoke of it did not exactly fill my heart with glad.

"It's a place where all of the unwanted things are thrown into. Which is why I don't understand why anyone would throw a handsome thing like you down there!"

Handsome? Thing? Now, I was receiving mixed opinions, and was more confused than ever.

I wanted so badly to ask her questions. The problem was, I didn't know what they were, how to phrase them, or even if the answers were within reach. And as it turned out, there were bigger fish to fry.

Aldane had heaved his sword from his shoulders, and swung it into a position of combat readiness. But he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were fixed on a path to the right of where we were standing. An avenue now tarnished by the shuddering shadows of approaching figures, and the relentless pounding of hooves.

"Can you fight?" Aldane asked gruffly.

"I'm not sure," I admit. "I don't even have a weapon!"

The northerner laughed for the first time since I had met him, and he looked at me with his eyes blazing, a pre-slaughter sweat coating his forehead and shaggy black hairs.

"Well, I guess you're about to find out!"

**To Be Continued...**

**Hello DkS FanFiction community! It's been a long time, hasn't it? But now, following on from my Epic Tale, The Army of Four, and my... uh, that other story, Dark Lols, I now bring you a new story set in the new and beautiful world of Drangleic. The Magician's Tail will feature mostly OC's, as I wanted to tell a unique story this time around, but you can look forward to some familiar faces returning in Dark Lols II: The Second One, which is coming soon...**

**Thanks for reading, and please leave your reviews below! I'm dying (again and again) to know what you think of this new tail (hehe). **

**See ya'll later ;)**

**ASunbroToServeTwo**


	3. The Riders of Faraam

**Chapter Two: The Riders of Faraam**

My heart still beating against the wall of my ribcage, I attempted to move as far away from the oncoming sound as possible. To my surprise, I found that my broken legs were now as good as new, and they wasted no time in propelling me clumsily across Majula's grassy green turfs. Unfortunately, my time in the Gutter had robbed me of my expertise on walking straight, and with my legs feeling as though they were held steady by little more than strands of rope, I crashed to the ground.

In the process of my blunderings, I managed to drop my useless stick. If I was jumped by an assailant, I wanted to know that I could at least poke them in the eye in self defence. Keeping my eyes trained upon the ground for fear of what I may see ahead, I went to retrieve the wooden weapon.

Just as my fingers had started to curl around it, an intimidating steel hoof pulverised the ground, nary a few feet from my fingers. Immediately, I withdrew, as the armoured steed looming above me kicked an enormous cloud of dust into my face, and snorted wildly.

Looking up, I saw a warrior clad in a distinctive silver set of armour disembarking from the horse. Even with all of my knowledge now, I find it difficult to describe the chain-mail of Faraam, but it is very extravagant. The shoulder-plates are clad with a fine fur, and the gauntlets are carved from a most-elegant sliver of silver. The chest is an array of delicately-fused slabs, bound by a leather strap where a selection of daggers and apothecary materials may be stored. The armour is magnificent, but it is the helm that continues to astound me. The headgear of the Faraam knight is a marvel of smithery; a curved, tall and sleek design, topped by a trinity of grooves that form a highly-defensive visor for the head which it occupies.

From that very first moment of sighting, I knew I was facing an opponent who would not be trifled with. Moments later, I was proved right, as the knight thrust a sword composed of the finest titanite steel into the against my throat.

It was only the second time that day that I had been threatened, and held at blade's edge, but already, I could sense it would not be my last.

"Stand, worm," my assailant ordered. Begrudgingly, I did so, my aching bones straining against my flesh as I did so. Satisfied, the knight stared me straight in the eyes, a gesture that I found even more disconcerting because their own eyes were completely invisible. The knight had me at their mercy, and with their blade pressing deeper into my flesh, I prepared for the end, which had come so unexpectedly close to the beginning.

Then, they said something which took me completely by surprise. "Sit back down."

I stared in disbelief, my ears wondering if they had warped the words, and my heart punching at the edge of my chest in a feeble attempt to escape its enclosure.

"Didn't ya hear me?" the knight challenged me. "Get down on your hands and knees, and lick my boots!"

There could be no mistaking the drollery that was seeping into his speech. It suddenly dawned upon me that there was no sign of fighting anywhere around me. A quick, confirmatory glance to wards Aldane proved me right. The burly northerner had sheathed his sword, and was watching this tomfoolery unfold. The knight, losing patience with my un-cooperation, pushed his blade down further on my neckline. This time, I definitely felt the edge draw blood, and I remained frustratingly paralysed as the trickle ran down my neck, tickling and troubling me with perfect synchrony.

"That's quite enough, Reckan."

I recognised the voice immediately, reconciling it with the divinity and reassurance of Carlai. 'Reckan' made no attempt to move however, and actually seemed amused by Carlai's efforts to stand in his way.

"Aldane!" my angelic saviour cried. "Tell your ape of a brother to let him go. Now!"

"Ape?!" Reckan's grip tightened upon the end of his sword. "Watch your tongue, bitch, or I'll cut it out!"

Thankfully, Aldane had seemed to come to (at least part of) his senses, and begrudgingly came o my aid. "Come on, brother. You've had your fun The tailed one poses no threat."

"No," Reckan agreed. "But he is very amusing."

The burden was lifted from my shoulders, and immediately my hand was at my bloodied cut. My fingers graced the graze, identifying at as a succinct, yet sore wound. I cannot express the anger that began to rise in my blood as Reckan and Aldane, siblings in sadism, clasped their hands together, and shared a bellowing laugh at my expense. My fists were bunched before I could stop myself, and on my feet before I even knew what was happening. However, my mind to unleash fury on the pair was sizzled out when I saw the five warriors accompanying them, each similarly kit up atop ferocious steeds.

Carlai laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. "These lot aren't worth it. Thugs - all of them."

Offering her a forced smile, I pressed her for information. "Who are they?"

Carlia shook her head, disapproving. "Reckan and his knights are from Faraam. They've been travelling around Majula for a couple of days now, mostly to visit his brother. They say they've found a lead on something important that their king wanted. I couldn't care less for all of it. They bring only drunken foolishness and blithering idiocy whenever they are near. If they plan on staying the night, don't lay any hope on catching shuteye."

"I wouldn't have slept anyway," I informed her. As I watched, Aldane and a Faraam knight smashed their bellies together like a pair of cymbals. "I've been asleep for as long as I can remember."

Carlai looked at me, her eyes darting about to try and identify the enigma that I am. "You really don't remember anything, huh?"

I shake my head. "Only the darkness."

Carlai nodded, her eyes shimmering as they looked out against the sun, which was leisurely setting over the sea.

"Well, maybe you'd have been best to stay in it."

* * *

I was more than a little alarmed when the darkness started to creep back across the world. Only, this time it was not the spawn of a dark and dreary hole, but a natural occurrence. Day had turned into night.

The rest of the afternoon had passed rather uneventfully. I had been sat atop a flat-topped boulder for the past few hours, pondering on everything from my name to the last meal I had eaten before entering the hole. Every so often, my eyes would be caught by a movement behind me, and my hairs would bristle in anticipation. But time and time again, I proved myself paranoid, with a timid glance revealing nothing but my tail.

My tail. Many a time that afternoon did I just end up staring at the thing. I would've loved to have seen it hacked off. It served no purpose whatsoever, other than to make me feel like even more of an outcast than I already am. It just kind of sits there. A scaly eyesore, a loathsome lump. Not to mention my stick, the one possession that I had been found with. What ever could have persuaded the man I was before the Gutter to carry such a pointless item around? Maybe I was missing something, everything. Or maybe the world really was just that abstruse.

As sunlight began its transformation into moonlight, I watched the sun set below the sea. I won't deny that tears gathered at the floodgates when the last of the orange beams pierced through the jagged stalagmites, and the world was enveloped in a gloomy veil. For all I knew, that sunset could have been my ten millionth, but in that moment, having no recollection of anything beyond the dark, it moved me in ways I cannot even express.

Of course, Dumb and Dumber did not enjoy the aesthetics. I have never known such a pair of hooligans, and I probably never will again. For a while, after Reckan and his men had removed the saddles from their horses and tied them to a nearby house, Aldane and his brother were involved in a heated debate. What it was about, I had no idea at the time. All I heard was the faintest murmurs of conversation, strange words I had never heard of like 'Aldia', and 'Brightstone.' Of course, that led me to be reluctantly intrigued. After Reckan's... how should I say... "graceful" entrance, I had not expected much more of him. But there was a certain sophistication about the man - the same goes for his brother. Through their extremely-emotive body language, I could ascertain that Aldane was indeed the youngest of the siblings. When Reckan spoke, there was less of the ruggedness that he had demonstrated earlier... He used some of the most vibrant adjectives I have ever heard, words like 'despondent' and 'doleful.' There was no doubt I was looking upon an educated man, perhaps some kind of scholar.

And yet, all that civility dissolved after about an hour. A cask containing bottles of a sharp-red wine was brought out of a trunk, and swiftly consumed, before another was brought forward. This one contained xanthous yellow liquid, the kind that looked better suited to the inside of my intestinal tract than a man's mouth. Still, Reckan swallowed one whole in less than half a minute, and his brother was soon up in arms, trying to outmatch his sibling with at least three bottles at a time. Following the thorough evaporation of this second casket, Aldane seemed to be under the assumption that his brother had transformed into a steed, and mounted him. I tried not to wince as the pantomimic duo clumsily trod off into the night, Aldane slapping viciously on his brother's rear, and shouting "Go horsey, go!"

"Faradvocaat."

Carlai's voice shook me from my state of disbelief. She was smiling at me, as she always seemed to be, and took a place opposite me on the floor, with her back firmly to the tomfoolery beyond. "It's a Forossan delicacy," she explained. "Doesn't half make ya lose your mind."

I didn't speak for a few moments, distracted by the way her eyes shone against the light of the dusk. Those eyes... like searchlights, they were peering at me, assessing me, trying to weave their way into my mind; my soul. But I didn't mind. In the evening's palette, they seemed to transform, metamorphosing from an evergreen to a silky opal.

"It looks like piss," I say.

It was the first time I had attempted humour since I had emerged from the Gutter. Since that situation did not evoke much comedy, that was hardly a surprise, but yet I was surprised by how naturally the words had seemed to come to me. They were just my thoughts, and yet... They felt like something _I_ _would say_, which is probably difficult for you to understand. Nonetheless of the rustiness of my joke, Carlai's mouth opens wider than I thought possible, and a trickle of laughter bursts forth.

"That's an insult to piss," she exclaims, giggling.

"That's true. Piss smells better," I riposted.

I chuckled a little harder than I probably should have at my own joke. It was alright though, because Carlai seemed to laugh just as hard. When I finally ceased my idiotic chortling, I looked at my feet for a few moments, only to realise that her eyes were yet to leave me. Burning red, I cast a glance at her, to see she was still marked by an enduring simper. When she still didn't stop looking, and the situation was starting to become a tad bit gawky, I decided to ask my saviour a question.

"What is it like?"

Carlai's eyebrows fell as she considered my query. "What?"

"The world. Out there. What kind of a place have I arrived in?"

"It's called Drangleic," she answers.

The second she mutters the word, I sense a power behind it. An authority. It meant nothing to me, and yet, subconsciously, I felt an undeniable notion of acquaintance.

"Drangleic," I say, letting the syllables reverberate upon my tongue. "Sounds mysterious."

Carlai nods a little. "It was once a great kingdom, watched over by a strong and just king. The land prospered, and many found a home here. But then came the curse. The curse of the undead."

That word again. Undead. Hadn't I been labelled as such upon my entrance? "What does it mean?" I ask, morbidly curious.

"It's not a pleasant topic of conversation," she warns. "Are you sure you wish to know?"

I say that I am, already dreading my own mistake.

"It means that death is no longer the end," Carlai answers, her voice little more than a whisper now. "Humanity passes into a state of purgatory. Our flesh may wither and rot, but our minds stay alive. Our hairs fall out of their pores, our bones start to splinter and crack, and yet we keep on walking, crawling, searching for answers to questions we don't even know how to ask any longer. We become the scorn of the earth, hunted by the living, and pacified only by a fiery tomb. We cannot even find unity amongst brothers and sisters, for once humanity has weakened to the state of undeath, only one thing matters to us, and that's ourselves."

She peers at me when I choose to say nothing following her monologue. "It's not a pretty fate, I'll tell you."

My ears pick on her words, but my eyes deny her. A deep sense of foreboding is toiling in my gut. Even Carlai can sense it.

"You shouldn't worry," she says, and I finally look at her. "You are not undead. Or, at least, you are not hollow. I believe that, to an extent, we are all undead."

I look upon her perfectly-carved features, and cast a doubt. "Even yourself?"

She looks down for a spilt second, before resurfacing. "Yes. I have died many times now. But I keep my humanity, by holding onto this."

She unfolds her fingers, and cradled inside them, is a strange idol. An effigy of a human face. As I stare at, and tried to assess its meaning, I slowly start to see how its curves, and its wholly-distinguishable shape, come to represent Carlai's likeness. Perhaps even my own.

"If you can remember who you are," she says softly. "You will not succumb to the curse. Try holding it for yourself."

She passes the effigy into my own hands, and I look upon it with glazed eyes. I see nothing.

I am about to concede, when a darkness comes over me. My head starts to spin, my grasp upon the effigy starts to falter. I hear Carlai murmuring, then talking, and then shouting at the top of her lungs. Dark, unrecognisable shapes flush around my peripheral vision, slowly melting into another until all that surrounds me is a perfect blackness. A void of silence.

And then I hear the voice.

"Ellllllliiiiiiiisss!"

A woman, without a doubt. But it is not Carlai, and I do not recognise it at all.

Just as suddenly as it begins, the scream is gone. And then there is just the vacuum again.

Without warning, a clap of white lightning illuminates something. A shape, a figure.

A face.

Contorted... twisted... screaming for help...

It takes me all of one minute to work out what I'm looking at. And then I see the object clutched to its chest. A stick. A perfectly useless stick.

Finally, I realise that I am gazing upon myself.

And then the white light implodes, and I am thrown into the nothing.

* * *

**Hi everyone! Thanks for all the follows and favourites. I'm really happy with how the story has been received thus far! Just a line to let you know that although I will continue to write this story, my efforts are constantly divided so progress will be slow. Alongside this, I have Dark Lawls II, The Fall of the Silence (so nearly finished), A Shot in the Dark and a new Godzilla fanfic that I'm starting. Expect maybe a chapter per month? Sorry guys, it's all I can do to keep your followship ;(**


	4. Vessel of the Lords

**Chapter Three: Vessel of the Lords**

* * *

My second day in Majula began rather extraordinarily.

Not that I was unfamiliar with the uncanny. I had, after all, just escaped captivity inside an enormous sewage pipe with nothing but a useless stick and a similarly obstinate rear decoration.

Still, opening my eyes with a sudden, irresistible compulsion to shout "I know my name!" cannot be considered a normal start to the day, and it certainly shook myself up just as much it did Carlai, and the rest of the sleeping campsite.

Having apparently dozed off right by my side, Carlai received the full reverberations of my declaration, and when her eyes flashed open, they lacked the cohesion and lucidity that I had come to associate with them, resembling swirling spirals rather than colourful circles. Brushing her hair from her eyes, she tried to focus her gaze on me. "What?"

To my immediate shock, I realised that I had barely even registered the shout that had just bounded off of my tongue. The residents of Majula had no such trouble, though. Already, I could hear the mumbled grunts of Aldane, Reckan and the Faraam knights as they attempted to move on an astounding hangover.

Slowly, the clarity returned in Carlai. Before I had a chance to speak in justification of myself, she was sieging me with a wall of questions. Was I alright? What happened to me?

What did I mean?

For once, I had actually had an answer, but not for any of the questions she was asking me.

"Carlai," I interrupted softly. "I think I remember what my name is."

Her eyes go wide. "You do?"

I nod. "I saw it. Some kind of vision, incited by that dreadful Effigy you gave me."

Carlai looked as though she was hung on every one of my words. "Go on. What did you see?"

I paused as I realised that the memories were foggier than I had anticipated. "I didn't see anything. It was an aural experience. There was... a woman screaming... I... didn't recognise her voice, but she I think she was calling to me..."

"And what did she say?"

I closed my eyes as the mist parted, and the word came back to me, delivered on a silver plate. "She said 'Ellis.' And I think that was - is - my name."

Carlai looks away from me for a moment, apparently to check on the status of Aldane and his baboons. For a moment, I wasn't certain that she believed me. Something mysterious crossed her face. It almost seemed like... disappointment.

"Did you see anything else?" she bombarded moments later, before correcting herself. "Hear. Did you hear anything?"

I shook my head. "No."

Carlai reaches out and touches my arm. "Well, that's still great! Your memory could be coming back. You're one step closer to returning home!"

Her words are mention to offer gentle encouragement, but I can't help but feel embittered by the frustrating lack of solid information I could gleam from my experiences. I was still lost in a world which I was yet to understand, and all this talk of an undead curse did not exactly enamour me to my new surroundings. In this case, perhaps remaining unmindful would be preferable - not that I seemed to have any control over the matter.

The sound of a heavy set of boots behind me alerts me to the arrival of Aldane. Despite his long hair being awfully raggedy from his sleep, he looks surprisingly fresh for a drunkard. He eyes me with the same suspiciously amusement that characterises his introduction, and asks me if I slept well. But not exactly in those words.

"Bed bugs bite ya tail, Gutter?"

I decided to ignore the egregious tones in his voice, and answered with dignity. "I haven't slept that well since the pit. Or at all."

Carlai chuckles lightly, but Aldane just wriggles his upper lip. "Did ya ever wake up early down there? Start shouting at the top of ya lungs to the rats?"

I only realise then that I was the one in the wrong in this situation. I'd been so enthralled with my newfound revelation, I'd nearly forgotten that it had woken everyone up. I nearly felt guilty, but then I noticed he was burdening his greatsword over his shoulder - the very same metal menace that I had become well-acquainted with yesterday. The image of Aldane snuggling up to the behemoth as he slept entered my mind, and I had to choke down a giggle.

"Sorry," I muster. "But I think I might have remembered my name."

"Oh yeah? Thrain Piddlepants, was it?" Reckan had arrived to provide chiding support to his brother. I ignored him, as is the way to treat thugs of his kind.

"My name is Ellis," I tell them. "But that's all I know. At the moment."

Aldane yawned theatrically. "That's nice, kid. Can we go back to sleep now?"

"Better not, brother," Reckan interjected. "We have a tough journey ahead of us today. It would be wise to make preparations and be off."

"You're leaving?" I ask. "Already?"

"As much as I enjoy Majula's jewels," he laments, casting a very unsubtle, advantageous glance at Carlai. "I have a duty to my king to fulfil the task he has entrusted with me."

Before I could stop myself, I implored further. "Oh yes, I heard you talking about it yesterday."

Reckan smiles venemously. "Ah, you like eavesdropping, do'ya?"

At this point, I should have just shut myself and my assertions down, but my curiosity sapped at me like a great thirst, and I was drawn to quench it. "Well, you do talk very loudly. What is it that you say you've found?"

The Faraam knight looks incredulous. "Do you really think I would tell you the intimate specifics of my expertly-formulated plan? A halfling that I've never met? Bah."

Aldane steps in, cutting across his brother. "It's not really that important that it remain secret, Reckan. If we succeed, we will save this land."

Reckan gives his brother a very stern look - apparently trying to will him to melt into a gloopy puddle on the floor. "But if we fail... Then the dark will have an omnipotent new weapon."

I was beyond baffled by this point, but when I tried to press further, Reckan went for his belt, unsheathing a small ivory dagger and pushing it menacingly toward me.

"What are you doing?" I exclaim, eyeing the sharpened blade from a most uncomfortable distance.

Reckan grimaces. "I don't know you. Therefore, I don't trust you. Not to mention you have all the qualities of a halfling, an agent of the enemy!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I asserted between raspy breaths. "I got here yesterday!"

"Just stay out of our way, kid," the Faraam knight ordered, before spitting viciously and striding away. Aldane continues to watch me, daring me to speak. When I do not, he waves his hand dismissively and heads off in his brother's wake.

I look at Carlai for moral support, but for once she has nothing much to say. She shrugs, as if to say 'your guess is as good as mine.' "Faraam has never been renowned for its hospitality."

I search her eyes for understanding, but I do not possess her powers of deduction, and her soothing blue pupils remain an azure enigma. I spend a few moments carefully considering how to phrase my next words, fearing another backlash from this world where I am nothing but a stranger.

Eventually, I find my voice, trapped deep as it was in a pit nearly as deep and dark as the Gutter. "Do you know what they are seeking?"

Carlai nods gently, but her pupils dart about like fish in a bowl. I gather the impression that - like Reckan, but farther more politely - she is withholding some of the finer details at all times. "They're looking for fragments of an ancient vessel. If they can gather of all the pieces, supposedly there is a wondrous power that may be unlocked. It's only a story, really... But Faraam believes it very strongly. Restoring this vessel - a window into the power of ancient lords - could bring prosperity back to Drangleic. And that is what we are all hoping for..."

As I listen, I watch the Faraam knights loading up their steeds in the horizon.

"For a folklore," I begin tentatively. "They certainly seem to be impassioned in its defence."

Carlai looks out over the sea, her hair flapping like a weary flag in the breeze. "Their kingdom - along with all of them - is falling into ruin. The curse will overcome us all in the end. In a world like this, hope truly is the strongest of emotions."

Strangely, I am comforted by her speech, and I do not make any attempt to reply, letting my ever-expanding knowledge of the world soak in silence. Following the rare moment of calm, Carlai takes my hand suddenly and exclaims.

"Come on then, Ellis. If Majula is going to be your home for the foreseeable future, you should come meet the rest of us!"

She tugs on my arm again, and I allow her to lead me forwards. At this point, I could only hope that my new neighbours were unlikely to put a sword against my throat.

But Majula was just that kind of town.

* * *

I have to hand it to him - Maughlin's sword was the most elegant of the blades that was put to my neck that day. A curved weapon - known to the experienced as a Monastery Scimitar - with a bejewelled hilt, I was enamoured to its glimmer from the moment it was pressed against me to the second it was withdrawn. It's owner did not possess the same regality as his weapon, and demanded several times that I put my furry flagella away, lest he cut it off.

Maughlin himself was a peculiar little fellow. His face was mostly obscured by a foggy white beard that reminded me of the clouds above, but I could tell that he was an old man - that was discernible from his eyes, which told more tales than any singular mouth could. He wore brown rags, yet had one of the finest interiors of any house I had visited in Majula that day. Golden and silver flashes all around me caught my eye - but I daren't not investigate, lest I further incite the armorer's fury.

I had to let Carlai do the talking. As it turns out, her powers of enchantment extend beyond simply myself. Before my eyes, Maughlin drops his sword, and bends down to kiss Carlai's silken white hand - a token of his understanding.

"Forgive me," he implores, only half-addressing me - the one he actually offended. "My shop was attacked by bandits not long ago. They took everything except this shield!"

The armament in question was a rather-pathetic little shield. Although it was made of brass, and offered decent protection from most attacks, it was only just bigger than my head, meaning that it was more suited to an expert in parrying - someone who would aim to deflect hits, rather than soak them up. In the centre of the shield was an insignia of a phoenix, a legendary creature that supposedly is reborn from the ashes after its death.

"I take it as a sign that my enterprise will be successful again," Maughlin explained. "Here. Tell your friend that he may have the shield as a token of my apology."

I thought briefly about lecturing Maughlin on the ill-effect that his good intention would have on his economy, but decided against it. There was little reason to make enemies unnecessarily in this hostile, and alien world. I took his shield with the biggest smile I could muster, and held it aloft to the sky. I was surprised to find it was very light, which immediately arose fears in me, and yet as I held it I felt much safer and durable than previously.

Maughlin watches me examining the shield, before his eyes are caught by something else, sheathed in my buckle.

"What's that?" he asks me, fingering my useless stick.

"I'm not certain," I admit. "But I believe its a clump of wood."

The armorer folded his arms. "If you're going to take that kind of attitude about it, them you can forget such clemency in the future!"

Realising that I had been unjustly rude to Maughlin, I apologised.

"It's all just so confusing right now," I told him, half-wondering how the man who had just put a scimitar at my throat was now due the apology.

"I understand," the armorer replied. "But I don't believe that your stick is so useless after all..."

I look at Maughlin, but his eyes are focused solely on my belt.

"May I see it?" he asks timidly.

Nodding with slight amusement, I passed the slab of wood into the hands of the armorer, who then proceeds to cast his eyes across every nook and cranny. As he continues, I notice his movements becoming increasingly erratic; his hands have started to shake, and a gleeful chuckle emerges from his mouth every now and then.

Finally, he looks back at me. "Do you know what this is?"

I resist the temptation for a snarky retort. "No."

Maughlin grins like a Cheshire Cat, holding my stick out in front of him like a sacred artefact.

"It's a catalyst!" he declares.

He pauses, presumably waiting for me to have some kind of awe-inspired reaction. When I do not, his face falls. "You have HEARD of catalysts, haven't you?"

I shrug. Maughlin looks incredulous.

"My boy, have you any idea what this means? Sorcery! Magic is returning to Drangleic!"

Of course I had some preconceptions about what magic was at the time. I pictured white rabbits, produced from tall black hats; boxes containing people being sawn in half; larger-than-life stage performers with capes disappearing in a flash and a puff of wispy, grey smoke. But, like most of my assumptions thus far, I was profoundly mistaken.

I will explain. In Drangleic, magic is a weapon that is borne of intelligence rather than brute strength. It is wielded by the gifted, often as a primary weapon, and cones in many shapes, forms, colours and distinctions. As I would learn later, certain magic types, known as hexes, became the most feared tools of warfare in the land. Rather than relying on the power of the caster, hexes would draw their power from the lifeforces around them, consuming souls and stealing breaths at a whim. For this reason, hexing became outlawed in every known land. But the practice continued under the cover of darkness, which lead to the assassination of the Queen of Olaphis - or so the tales told.

Maughlin seemed to think I was a mage, and that this was why I was found with a catalyst. My oaken branch, it would seem, was actually a magical vessel of the highest power and prestige. According to the armorer - who professed he was no expert - my catalyst had been hued from a mystical tree, said to be the spawn of all sorcery in existence. In short, this meant that I was one of the most powerful magicians alive.

Unfortunately, I had no clue what he was on about. Carlai seemed to be equally - yet less audibly - excited about the prospect. Supposedly, the king of Drangleic at this very point in time had ordered the cremation of all magical objects and sorceries, so as to purge the filth from the practice and purify the land. Of course, this had not been well-received by his people - it was practically subjugation for the magically-inclined. This was the first catalyst Maughlin had seen in twenty years.

"If you wish to discover yourself, there is someone that you should go and meet," Maughlin tells me. "His name is Straid. He was once a sorcerer, but he was captured and beaten, and all of his magical prowess was sapped. He can probably still teach you a few things."

Now, even I was excited. Was I about to find the answers that I sought? Discover who I truly was

"Where might I find this man?" I asked energetically.

Maughlin exchanges a straight face with Carlai, and I literally feel the air turn colder as he pivots back to me.

"That's the catch, you see," he says calmly. "Nobody has seen him in years, but the last time that we did, it was in the Tower of Abhorrence."

I would later learn, that this was a very bad thing indeed.

* * *

Crestfallen Saulden was having a pretty awful day.

First of all, he'd had to trek all the way down to the Forest of Fallen Giants to fetch a pail of water for his bath. The water in Majula had stopped running years ago, and the path down to the sea had crumbled away, leaving liquid as a scarce and fragile resource. The walk had been mostly peaceful, save for a few hollows who were quickly and mercilessly dispatched, but now his legs had began to strain under the effort. He needed to rest, but he also knew that night would fall in a few hours, and that would make the journey back home an absolute impossibility. He'd heard stories of twisted abominations that preyed upon travellers that walked this road, creatures of the night that took an abstract pleasure from dismembering the living, and adding them to the contents of their stomachs.

But his fatigue was only one of his problems. He now believed he might actually be lost.

Normally when he walked along this road, he would pass a large round boulder off to the left side. When he saw this rock, he knew that he was but a few feet from the entrance to Majula - that he was on the home stretch. Usually it would only take him a couple of hours to reach that rock, but now he had been pattering on for five, and there was still no sign of the boulder.

Saulden wasn't ignorant. He knew that he was an older man now, nearly in his sixtieth cycle of the sun, but he'd made this trek mere days ago without ailment. Something had changed, not just in the path, but in the air itself. Something sinister hung in the wind, and every gust was one of its raspy breaths.

An owl hooted in the distance, and Saulden finally came to a stop. He had to rest - even if it were just for a few minutes. Carefully minding his aching legs, he plunked himself down on a log nearby.

As he looked about himself idly, he saw a shadow upon the ground. Instantly startled, he pulled out his sword. But it was only a reflection of himself, cast by the setting sun through the trees.

The odd thing was, it was moving, apparently completely of its own accord. As Saulden continued to follow its trajectory, he was alarmed as a pair of enormous, glowing red eyes punched their way out of its head, and stared ominously at him.

Now, he was running. He heard the splash as the water from his pail was knocked over, and five hours of tedium were soaked into the earth, but he didn't look around. Despite his state of fatigue, he didn't slow once until he was safely behind a large, sickly-green tree. Panting hard, he glanced behind him.

But he was not being pursued. He was safe.

He let his breath return to his body, before reconditioning himself, and stepping out from behind the tree.

Saulden's eyes widened as the gigantic sword was thrust through his chest, emerging from the other side to impale the tree which had previously - but ineffectually - concealed him. At the end of the blade was a phantasmic knight, silhouetted in black, and bearing a helmet punctuated by piercing red pupils.

Saulden's shadow had caught up to him.

The knight rose into the air, as though carried by it, and Saulden went with him. The sword began to glow white at the tip, slowly travelling along the body until it finally struck Saulden's rigid body.

The Crestfallen warrior could barely manage a scream as he felt his whole body tearing away. Tendons broke, and blood spewed across the surface of the sword, but the knight held fast.

Finally, Saulden's eyes rolled shut, and consequently out of their sockets and onto the forest floor. Calmly, the knight prised the dead warrior off of the end of its blade, before tossing him aside like a ball of paper.

The knight looked to the sky, which was spattered with a generous collection of stars. On a clearer night, Majula would be unreachable - but tonight was perfect.

One had already stained his sword - another would soon join him.

The knight stood upright, before disappearing inside a black mist.

As for Saulden, he'd had a pretty awful day.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**What's this? Three Dark Souls stories in three days? Don't get too used to the pampering :D**


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